


Hiro-61; Deadland

by sweetdefault



Category: Metroid Series, Predator Original Series (1987-1990)
Genre: F/M, another yautja has joined the battle, fuck the galactic federation, samus goes yautja hunting, the metroid doesn't want to be apart of this, the yautja goes metroid hunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetdefault/pseuds/sweetdefault
Summary: In her efforts to locate and destroy the Galactic Federation's remaining Metroid clones and DNA, intergalactic bounty-hunter-turned-fugitive Samus Aran travels to an outpost on planet Deadland. She soon learns she isn't the only hunter on the planet, nor the only one hunting her quarry.
Relationships: Predator/Human, Yautja/Human
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: Yautja Prime Prompt Meme





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [IanAlphaAxel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IanAlphaAxel/pseuds/IanAlphaAxel) in the [Yautja_Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Yautja_Prompts) collection. 



> hi there! this is a prompt fic for the Yautja Prime Prompt Meme. set after the events of Metroid: Fusion. Trying to mostly stay in the lines of canon but certain things (like AI Adam's characterization) are likely off since I haven't played Fusion in over a decade.

“Adam. Bring us in quietly; I’m going to change.”

_“Yes, lady.”_

The front of the orange gunship dips as the spacecraft prepares to enter the atmosphere. In the ten minutes it takes for the craft to ready itself for entry, acclaimed bounty hunter Samus Aran steps into a glass chamber and extends her arms and legs. Light floods the room as mechanical limbs extend and bring with it the pieces of her Fusion suit: a remnant of her powerful Varia suit, a gift bestowed to her by the same great species who took her in when she needed them most.

It is the same shade of orange. She smiles at the fact, only to dismiss the thought and reach for her helmet.

In the past, after becoming infected with a deadly viral strain known as _X_ , the woman walked the line of life and death as medical professionals worked endlessly to remove her Varia suit and save her. It is through the DNA of a Metroid, the Chozo’s greatest and most damning creation, she lives and breathes. Though the bounty hunter has since reverted her DNA to the Chozo-Human hybrid it was prior to the _fusion_ incident, her power suit remains the same state it was post-treatment. The sleek, body-tight suit clings to the blue skin-thin suit beneath, ensnaring her in rich orange plating and allowing her right arm to control the power cannon built into the suit.

Though she recalls her Varia suit providing more _support_ in raw resistance to natural elements and hostile conditions, Samus is more than happy to have a suit at all. The orange fusion suit fits like a charm; it intertwines with the zero suit underneath, then with _her_ flesh, reaching out and connecting with her neural system in a way no organic lifeform can understand. None but her: The Entrusted, the Hatchling, the Hunter.

She returns to the cockpit and straps herself in, fumbling a bit as she adjusts to wearing the power suit once more. Using it gives her great boons in offensive prowess and physical strength, but it prevents her from making use of her right arm or hand. Her ship’s AI, _Adam_ , makes a snarky comment when she successfully buckles herself into the pilot seat. No sooner than she thinks of a witty quip back does the gunship _lurch_ forward and Samus forgets the string of words in favor of bracing herself against the growing heat and shaking interior.

Her gunship enters the yellow green atmosphere of _Deadland_ with a roar of thrusting engines. Samus keeps an eye on the heat shields of her ship. She doesn’t relax until the gunship passes the atmosphere and soars through the gaseous skies, following a route inputted five Earth days prior. The woman does not redirect the ship, though she taps holographic keys with her left hand and prompts a map of immediate surrounding geography to emerge.

Samus’ blue eyes narrow from beyond her visor; she peers at the coarse and fragmented ground.

_“I advise against taking a stroll for fun, lady.”_

“Noted, Adam. Thank you.” The bounty hunter tilts her head to one side. _Razor sharp, huh?_

She shudders at the thought of trying to navigate the terrain in her zero suit. Even with the suit’s ability to partially integrate with her body, it is not made of the sturdy material comprising her power suit’s exterior plating. Samus is certain navigating _Deadland_ will require nonstop use of her fusion suit. She grimaces, anticipating it becoming a bit stuffy.

“Adam, how far out are we from the Galactic Federation Outpost?” Samus sits back in her seat and listens to her ship’s engines roar, carrying her effortlessly through the skies.

_“Approximately thirty-four minutes and counting.”_

Samus regrets putting her suit on so early. Her power suit will convert energy reserves to nourishment automatically, a feat capable due to the alien DNA hybridized with her human strands, but it doesn’t remove the urge to eat.

Her stomach grumbles. She grumbles a moment later, “Make sure to land us away from the base. This is a stealth job—Not run and gun. Understand?”

_“Yes, lady.”_ Her AI makes a sound like someone clearing their throat. It’s a little strange, but it can’t be any stranger than the time she found out her AI was the uploaded mental scan of her deceased commander.

It feels ironic to be sneaking into the galaxy known as _Hiro-61_ to sabotage the research efforts of her former employers. Years ago, Samus recalls picking up contracts to do the very same to other groups’ across the known universe.

_How quickly things change._ The bounty hunter feels a ping of anger at the all-too-recent betrayal. _How quickly the fuckers turn on you._

She knows she didn’t want to be in this position. It is one of a cornered animal preparing to break out and run rampant. Except—She isn’t an animal; she’s a hunter. She is a hunter and she is _very_ , very good at what she does. The Galactic Federation, with all its fancy parliament-approved laws and codes, went behind her back and cloned Metroids for uses she cannot tolerate. Samus seethes just at the thought of when she first discovered the Galactic Federation had used DNA particles of _her_ baby Metroid, particles from _her_ power suit, to clone and create new Metroids in the first place.

_Despicable._ The thirty-three-year-old woman grits her teeth. _I’m glad I don’t have to do this while you’re alive, Adam. I have no choice but to fight against the Federation. They don’t understand how dangerous the Metroids are. They want to capitalize on them!_

In her head, she imagines her former commander scolding her like one would a child, lecturing her on how opinion shouldn’t overstep duty.

_But my personal opinion’s right._ Samus argues with herself. _I won’t let anyone use the Metroids like this. X is taken care of. There is no reason to allow Metroids to exist when their potential for mass destruction is too much._

She decides she is right. It is the only logical conclusion after the steps she has taken to rid the universe of Phaaze, of X, and of _most_ of the Metroids.

The half hour passes in a blink of an eye. Adam sends a notification to her visor, informing her of the ship’s potential landing zone. Samus issues vocal approval and breathes deeply as her gunship docks on the ground of _Deadland_.

Xx

Something is wrong.

“Adam. Do you see this?” Samus prompts her visor’s optical system to zoom in on the dead guard. Her blue eyes narrow behind her helmet as she scans the body and sends the data back to her ship, the latter miles away.

_“Lady, that is a deceased Galactic Federation personnel.”_

“No wonder this place was easy to get into. Someone’s been through the guards.” She inhales deeply, perturbed by the thought.

Her suit recycles the air automatically. Stuffy, but efficient.

_“Do you need to abort the mission?”_ Her AI sounds concerned—Or as concerned as a sentient robot intelligence can be.

“No. I’m just… Annoyed, really. Disturbed. A bit of both. If someone broke in and took the Metroid DNA—I’m going to have one hell of a time tracking them down, Adam—” The bounty hunter straightens upright, her left hand on her suit’s power cannon. She switches the cannon to its ice beam output and grimaces. “Have the ship on standby. If things go south, I want you to blow this place wide open. Better to burn it to the ground than risk the Federation with Metroid DNA.”

_“That will put you at the top of the Galactic Federation’s Most Wanted, Sammy.”_

Samus wants to groan. She continues down the corridor, her suit automatically keeping a map in the corner of her visor. For a building with four floors, only the upper two are accessible from the ground. She notes the only access point to the lower levels stems from an elevator on the main floor. Samus grimaces, “—Adam, look for ventilation shafts. I need to know if there’s a less obvious route to the basement floors.”

_“…I just checked. You are approaching an intersection of three corridors. Proceed down the right; you will find a laboratory. An access pin is required to open the grate. If you connect me to a computer terminal, I will attempt to—”_

“On it,” Samus cuts the AI off. “Thanks, Adam.”

_“Doing my job, lady.”_

It takes several slow, painfully quiet minutes to find a working tech station and connect it with her suit. She holds still and bites her lip as she waits for Adam to finish with the machines. For all she knows about aliens, about Chozo, about bounty hunting, suits, and advanced, ancient technology alike, she feels far from confident with technology outside her suit and gunship. It’s what Adam is there for: the AI handles her weak points and looks out for her, just like the actual Adam did when he was alive.

_To an extent._ She grumbles, remembering all the times her late father figure disagreed with her decisions, accomplishments, goals…

_“I have determined the pin for the ventilation shaft grate is six-eight-one-nine-eight-six. You will need to locate the body of a registered maintenance worker and retrieve their hand. I will input the coordinates of the nearest maintenance worker into your suit’s navigational software.”_

“Wait,” something the AI says throws her off. Samus frowns and looks around the laboratory. “Adam, when you mean body—”

_“I conducted a scan of the facility while you stood around—”_

“It was not standing around.” Samus’ left fist clenches.

_“—Regardless of your opinion on what constitutes ‘standing around’, the scans revealed three heat signatures within the facility. One has been identified as you, Samus Aran, fugitive and intergalactic bounty hunter. The other two—A Metroid hatchling, larval stage—”_

“They already got one cloned?” Samus smashes her fist through the nearest wall. It doesn’t puncture through, but the force of her fusion suit is more than enough to leave an impressive dent. Inside the suit, the bounty hunter feels her body shake with impermeable rage.

Once more, the Galactic Federation has used the remains of the baby Metroid responsible for _saving her life_ to clone new Metroids. Once more, she will be forced to look upon the clone of the creature she became dearly attached to, and she will be forced to kill it. Again, and again, and again, until the Galactic Federation runs out of Metroid DNA particles to use, until the galaxies are rid of the deadly predator species.

_But who could have done this?_ She calms her simmering nerves and breathes in deeply, ignoring the stuffiness of recycled air in her suit. _The alarms weren’t tripped when I came in. Someone either disabled them, or got inside without activating them… Then killed everyone inside._

She has seen enough planets and fought enough otherworldly creatures to know of other bounty hunters and raiding parties existing across the stars.

_“—And a Yautja, referred to as a ‘Predator’ during the early years of Spacecraft advancement on Earth, has been identified on the sub-level B-2. Both lifeforms are considered hostile—"_ Adam begins into a rather boring spiel about things Samus already knows: weaknesses, expected combat maneuvers, known species physiology and the quickest way to kill both.

Her mind is far from the present. Even after she hunts down the body of the maintenance worker, even as she unlocks the grate covering the ventilation shaft, even as she pulls herself tightly into a ball and allows the suit to convert her mass to another form, even as the morph ball drops into the shaft and begins rolling through a series of metal chutes—She cannot think of anything but the alien who interrupted _her_ hunt.

Yautja. A powerful, old species revered for their Hunts across the galaxies. Throughout the history of Earth, Samus recalls incidents of Yautja visiting the blue planet in search of worthy prey. The distant history of Earth is one of the few useful things she learned during her time in the Galactic Federation.

Usually, Yautja do not cross the Galactic Federation. The Yautja clans—and the Council of _something_ who govern the clans—abide by a Code of Honor. They don’t go out of their way to kill unless provoked or deterred from the marked prey. They do not war with the Federation, but the known clans do not ally with the intergalactic parliament, either. The Federation avoids the Yautja clans, the Yautja clans avoid the Federation, and provided the Federation does not attempt to stop a ‘Hunt’ in progress or harass them: the Yautja clans do not _care_ what the Federation dabbles in.

In all her time working for or with or against the Federation—Samus has never encountered a Yautja. There has only ever been a case of one live specimen successfully detained, and if her memory serves, the Yautja escaped decades back.

She cannot fathom why a Yautja clan decided to infiltrate a Galactic Federation facility. _Was everyone in this building prey? Even the maintenance workers?_

A small burst of energy from the morph ball explodes the grate covering sub-level B-2’s ventilation shaft. The morph ball rolls out and, with a surge of energy leaving Samus feeling strange and whole again, reverts her mass into the proper organic structure of her body and the fusion suit. She holds a hand to her head and exhales slowly. Ever since her DNA shifts following X the incident—Samus finds her ability to ease in and out of the suit’s morph ball feature a… _disconcerting_ experience.

_“Samus. Your vital signs indicate increased heart rate and influx of palpitations. Are you nervous?”_ Adam’s voice is calm in her ear.

Samus sighs. “The suit’s morph ball… I don’t know. I should have taken the elevator.”

_“Why didn’t you, lady?”_

The bounty hunter scans the room she’s in. “Yautja hunters are clever. I remember the Federation made its personnel review videos on their fighting styles and tactics. I anticipated being the target of a Hunt at one point—But—Not bumping into one like this. Anyways, I figured the elevator is rigged or trapped or something, Adam. I don’t want to alert them.”

_“It is inevitable. I rescanned the facility. In that time, the heat signature of the Yautja hunter and Metroid hatchling moved at an identical pace.”_

“Not killing it… Are they trying to raise it? Clone their own to hunt? This is bad, Adam—” Samus grits her teeth, fighting the rising anger. “I’m not letting the Galactic Federation or a Yautja clan possess Metroids. Parasite X is gone—The time for Metroids is over.”

_“I agree, Sammy.”_

“Adam, I want you to circle the facility with my gunship. Look for a spacecraft—The Yautja hunter must have landed one here. Or—They have it floating in the sky. Maybe in orbit. Shoot it on sight,” Samus walks to the room’s door and pulls it open. She steps into the dark corridor beyond and activates her visor’s optical system. “—I’m not letting the hunter off this planet. Not with my Metroid.”

_“Given the position of humans as they are perceived by Yautja—Is it accurate to say the predator is now the prey? The usual roles have been switched.”_ Adam’s voice is smooth, but in Samus’ head she imagines her late father figure chuckling at the irony.

She grimaces. “This is a Hunt. Go on, say it. I know you want to.”

_“The predator is now the prey.”_

“Thank you, Adam.” Samus keeps her sarcasm dry and her wits about her.

The AI gives her a simple, “ _Of course, lady.”_

His voice fades and the coordinates of moving heat signatures flash on her map. The Yautja—and Metroid hatchling—are moving. 

Samus narrows her eyes. _Alright, Yautja. Let’s go hunting._


	2. N’ithya’thei’de

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yautja #2 has joined the fight!

The growl in the cockpit prompts the ship’s AI to adjust coordinates and prepare for atmospheric breach. He is already armed with a cache of weapons, notably the sleek, compact bow designed by his clan. Folding arrows with alternating arrowheads nestle together in a miniature quiver braced against his left thigh. Gleaming veritanium armor, insulated by high-impact absorption foam, coats the Arbitrator’s body in graceful plating.

He does not don a full set, as mobility is essential for a _kv’var-de_ looking to hunt at range. What pieces he has on are specifically for his quarry and his method of fighting. _Mar’cte_ is said to fight with a sword at close range and _taun’dcha_ from afar, entailing the Arbitrator protect his abdomen, arms, and outer sides of his muscular legs. A round from the _taun’dcha_ will hurt; plasma pistols at any range are devastating on impact.

Syra’gara puts his bio-mask on and calibrates its settings. The _kv’var-de_ rummages through optical filters until he settles on the full spectrum color filter, opening his world up and changing it from a simple range of heat signatures, to the glorious expanse of space, its stars, and the intimidating curve of the planet _N’ithya’thei’de_ , the Deadland.

The Deadland is a cruel planet, one full of prey ripe for the hunting. In recent cycles, the _pyode amedha_ dominated union known as the _Galactic Federation_ has built an outpost on the hostile terrain and spoiled the hunting grounds for many Yautja clans. The surplus of hunting reserves across other planets means the Council of Ancients responsible for creating modern laws have ordered hunts on Deadland to halt. Syra’gara growls to himself as he thinks about the absurdity of it all; there is no reason to heed any _pyode amedha_ or otherworldly lifeform thought.

 _No. Calm yourself. Irrational thought is what made you Arbitrator in the first place, Syra._ The man growls and leans back in his seat, swiveling it to face away from the planet’s green-yellow atmosphere.

His ship angles itself in preparation for descent.

Whatever the Council’s reasoning, it is not in his jurisdiction to know. The Ancient Yautja are not plentiful but they are highly respected and carry millennia worth of wisdom across them. If they believe Deadland is better off abandoned and left for the _pyode amedha_ to squabble on, he is no one to judge them. He must— _will_ —concentrate on his prey, on the _ic’jit_ Mar’cte.

His prey is a disgusting man, one who has thrown away all honor in favor of a criminal life. Syra’gara brings up the _ic’jit_ ’s information as his ship continues aligning itself within the orbit of the Deadland.

 _Mar’cte_ is a man of two-three-four cycles. He is known not for murder or the crime second to it, but for turning over secrets of Yautja technology to humanity. The _pyode amedha_ have already made great strides in their spacecraft and weaponry due to Mar’cte’s traitorous actions. Rumors put the man within the Galactic Federation’s influence. 

He grimaces as his optical system displays the screen of information in his visor. Syra’gara finds his eyes exposed to the _ic’jit_ ’s revolting sight. The man displayed is a tall Yautja with well-developed muscles and pristine white scales. The pelt is abhorrently marked by vibrant crimson lashes, supposedly a natural coloration resulting from brutal scars Mar’cte self-inflicted in recent cycles. The man’s eyes are blood red, as red as _pyode amedha_ blood, and even in hologram form: the pupils stare into Syra’gara as if hunting the man’s _bhu’ja_ , soul.

Notably, Mar’cte’s locs are long enough to be braided and pinned back. Syra’gara double-checks the time the data was collected, _two cycles prior._ Though possible for Mar’cte to have altered his locs himself, Syra’gara reckons the _ic’jit_ won’t dare touch his locs. It gives an insight into Mar’cte’s fighting abilities: he is a strong opponent to have outlived multiple Arbitrators and Enforcers, all while keeping his locs intact and without scarring or damage.

 _Stealth is preferable._ Syra’gara inhales through his mask, breathing in filtered air. He shuts his eyes as his ship begins to shake and rock wildly; the spacecraft rumbles loudly as Deadland’s atmosphere opens up and welcomes it in. 

* * *

_God,_ she’s a bumbling fool! _So-called Hunter!_ Alerting a trained killer to her presence because of her heat signature's _footsteps!_

The former bounty hunter cannot chide herself enough as she ducks a plasma blast and holds herself behind a corner.

 _“Lady—Duck!”_ Adam’s voice rings in her visor, screeching into her ears in the nick of time. Samus throws herself to the floor and rolls to the side, pulling herself back up on her feet in one fluid motion only to see a sizeable hole in the wall where the damn Predator’s weaponry hit a second ago.

“Thanks,” Samus grits her teeth. She charges a shot with her power cannon but holds off on firing. The compressed energy is _hot_ against her right hand and forearm. The woman inhales deeply and calms herself. “Adam, I need you to monitor the Metroid’s location—We’re here for the Metroid, this Yautja can go to Hades for all I—”

 _“Affirmative.”_ The AI cuts out as a roar comes from her left.

Though she doesn’t see anyone—Samus activates her visor’s optics in time to hiss and slide out of the way of shining blade. The sword hums with malevolence as a white humanoid-like alien spins and brings it on her again. She throws up her power cannon and fires in time to blast the sword backward.

The white Yautja stumbles from the impact, blade dropping from his hand. He throws his head back and roars, noises audible through Samus’ visor and the alien’s scratched mask. Samus throws herself forward and body-checks the bastard into a wall. The Yautja snarls and grabs her by the throat, squeezing hard enough to set off pressure sensors even as Samus thrusts her power cannon into the crook of the man’s neck. She unloads a volley of small energy shots; the Predator’s mesh suit takes most of the blows, but a splay of luminescent green blood indicates injuries.

“Not invincible, are you?” Samus spits the words, irate. _All this for one Metroid…!_

She curses when her back hits the floor, the woman’s power suit thrown down the corridor. Red stains mark the hall. The gore is strewn about with several mutilated and dismembered corpses of Federation scientists and researchers. The sight hits a nerve inside her, reminding her how the Federation has used her to wipe out entire species before. There is no need for pointless slaughter, and Samus doubts _every single_ body in the facility is guilty.

 _But every single body is dead!_ She jumps up in time to see the Predator advance on her position. Samus activates the _grapple beam_ on her left hand’s gauntlet. She ensnares the Yautja in it and pulls him _forward_ while swapping to her power cannon’s ice beam. She revs a blast just as the alien howls and extends three blades from his own wrist gauntlet. The cannon fires just after the Predator’s arm wrestles free of her grapple beam and plunges into weaker plates of her suit.

Samus howls in fury and pain; she sees red spray out of the wound. Her knees wobble and adrenaline surges but the pain hovers in her head, a sensation so _alien_ the irony almost makes her laugh. She grits her teeth and stays perfectly still; grateful her energy beam froze the Predator in place. She doesn’t have much time before she needs to re-freeze the extraterrestrial.

“Adam—” The woman chokes out. “Adam, can you hear me?”

_“Loud and clear, lady.”_

“It got me—The bastard got me, real bad, fuck,” the former bounty hunter hisses in pain. She shoots another blast of her ice beam at the fucker buried in her gut. “I can’t—The _damn_ weapons the Yautja—He’s got—Something—It broke my suit—It broke through my suit, Adam—”

She keeps herself calm by shooting the Yautja with another ice beam blast.

_“You’ve been hit.”_

“Yeah, go me,” Samus laughs nervously. “I, uh, I’m bleeding. I—I haven’t moved the—I haven’t taken it out—”

_“Lady, dislodging it will cause you to bleed to death. Don’t touch it.”_

“It’s attached to a goddamn Yautja, Adam!” Samus blasts the Yautja nearby with her ice beam a third time. “A living, breathing Yautja—"

“That’s a problem, Sammy.”

“No shit!” The bounty hunter has never felt so exasperated in her life. She grits her teeth and forces the words out. “—I—I’ll run out of energy reserves eventually—This Yautja is going to kill me, Adam. I can’t move without bleeding to death, and it can’t move until I let it unfreeze.”

She blasts the Yautja again. The two are stuck in the awkward embrace, pressed in a weird angle with the Yautja buried in her guts. 

“I reckon—” She bites her lip. “I have, what? Maybe twenty minutes to bleed to death slowly, or… Or… I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

_“Lady, keep yourself together. A ship just entered Deadland’s atmosphere—Yautja spacecraft. Open fire?”_

“Fuck,” Samus’ mind blanks. She shoots the Yautja gauntlet-deep in her abdomen with another chilling energy blast, then exhales slowly. “Is it—Does the ship look like it’s on autopilot?”

_“Yes, lady.”_

“No—I mean—Is anyone on the ship?” The ex-bounty hunter clarifies.

Silence.

Samus fights the growing wave of panic. Ice is an especially notorious energy to handle; attempting to keep the volatile energy _cold_ while simultaneously ejecting it with enough force to fire—there couldn’t be a greater mix of disastrous circumstances. Using her ice beam sucks away her energy reserves. When gone, she won’t be able to breath the planet’s toxic atmosphere, though Samus doubts she’ll live long enough to see the outside again. If the gauntlet pulls out of her body, she’ll be dead in less than a minute from blood loss. The only reason the woman’s lived this long is because she and the Yautja haven’t moved.

Her limbs ache and strain. She wants to sit down, but she can’t.

_“Scans indicate one lifeform present in the craft. The ship has ceased its descent and is turning to face your gunship, Samus. Open fire?”_

“No! No, no, God, no—” Her mind races. She figures a ship reacting to her gunship’s presence is no longer on autopilot. The figure inside _must_ be a new Yautja, since she’s kept the current one at bay with—another blast—her ice beam. The Yautja frozen at her side can’t access the wrist computer used for… Ships? Piloting? It’s becoming harder to think clearly. Samus clenches her eyes shut.

 _Dying here would suck._ She curses internally. “—Adam—Adam, set up a communications line—Send an SOS to the ship!”

Silence.

_“Affirmative. Normally, I would recommend against this, but given the state of your body—”_

“Send it, goddamnit!” Samus snarls. Her left hand trembles. She weakly fires another ice beam at the Yautja nearby. _And hurry. Please._

* * *

The ship caught in his spacecraft’s radar is an impressive gunship with a strange, distinct orange design. It makes the _kv’var-de_ hesitate to blast it immediately. Syra’gara squints from beyond his mask, his deep black eyes tracing every curve and sheen of metal of the gunship hundreds of _nok_ s out from his spacecraft.

To recognize something of another species entails one of two things: either the memory of a hunter is at its peak and one has studied the species thoroughly, or the species in question has done something to set themselves apart.

The gunship before him is a ship hinting at both things, at demanding full respect for its ties to a certain species, and for the individual he has heard rumors of across the clans.

The Chozo species is primarily extinct, wiped out by unknown means. What was once an unsufferable, yet brilliant, hunting quarry is now nothing more than lingering artifacts and fragments of technology. There is only one Chozo left, and the woman borders the line of masterpiece and _ui’stbe_ , abomination. If there is ever a _pyode amedha_ to care about besides the legends of old Terra residents like Dutch or Alexa Woods, it would be the Chozoian-Human hybrid Samus Aran. A worthy prey worth a lifetime of mates, glory, and honor.

There is a reason no Yautja has yet to hunt her down. She is sly and mobile, even in the strange metal suit built out of late Chozo technology. Her reaction speed is on par with most Yautja, even surpassing some of the Blooded warriors who have gotten too old in age. She is said to be fierce in _and_ out of her suit, displaying a prowess for physical strength, stamina, and agility not seen in regular _pyode amedha._ The thought of hunting such a challenging prey makes Syra’gara shudder with want; he can just imagine how his clan will react if he brings back the fabled Samus Aran’s skull and suit…

His AI clicks at him, alerting the Arbitrator to not only his duties, but also to an incoming communications line. The Yautja pauses, black eyes narrowing. He clicks and activates his bio-mask’s translator. The Arbitrator folds his hands behind his back, mandibles clacking impatiently as the communications line connects with the opposing gunship.

_“Greetings. My name is Adam, I am the Artificial Intelligence within Samus Aran’s ship.”_

Syra’gara growls. His mask plays in monotone, “You are not the Hunter.”

_“I am her AI.”_

“A-I…”

_“Adam. My name is Adam. The formalities are irrelevant; I have been instructed to issue an SOS on behalf of fugitive Samus Aran. She requires immediate medical care.”_

_That_ catches the Arbitrator’s attention. He stiffens and stares at the gunship through his cockpit window.

 _SOS… The pyode amedha call for help._ A disgraceful thing on a solo hunt. The final rest is more honorable than begging for assistance. Syra’gara growls at the thought. He despises how one of the few creatures to earn his species’ respect has already sullied her name in his eyes.

 _But she is not Yautja. She is Samus Aran._ The Yautja considers.

“Location. Give me her location.” Syra’gara growls.

 _“She and an unknown Yautja are currently locked together on the sub-level B-2 inside the Galactic Federation outpost. I will transmit her coordinates and a map of the facility to you. Stand by…”_ The AI’s voice cuts out.

Syra’gara hisses and lets his hands drop to his sides. He has no doubt the other Yautja is the _ic’jit_ he’s come to hunt. If Samus Aran is with the _ic’jit,_ it is in his best interest to find her and dispatch the Bad Blood immediately. Whether he aids her or not can be decided upon at that time. Not that he doesn’t mind saving her—But he does not do things for free, and he does not do things which entail dishonor. The Yautja sits back in his pilots seat as the coordinates come through. His AI automatically sets a course for the other side of Deadland; the Yautja’s ship rumbles as it soars across a rough and ragged landscape.

 _An ic’jit, an Arbitrator, and a ui’stbe hunter._ The man grits his teeth. His mandibles writhe and shudder. _I do this for my honor—not for me._


End file.
